Duck Rustler
by Jantallian
Summary: A little fun fiction involving Jess, Andy, Mike, an enraged stock-owner, a bewildered Mort, a vengeful gunman, Slim to the rescue (eventually) – oh, and a very persistent mallard. A little light relief after the Halloween stories! (Andy & Mike AU2)


A little fun fiction involving Jess, Andy, Mike, an enraged stock-owner, a bewildered Mort, a vengeful gunman, Slim to the rescue (eventually) – oh, and a very persistent mallard. A little light relief after the Halloween stories! (Andy & Mike AU2)

 **DUCK RUSTLER**

Jantallian

'From troubles of the world, I turn to ducks …' F.W. Harvey (1919)

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# 1 #

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Jess Harper loved ducks. They were cheerful, colourful, independent and didn't get under your feet – or so he thought in his innocence. He was sure God had deliberately created ducks for pure amusement or possibly for those moments when human beings got too obsessed with their own importance and needed a reminder to keep a sense of proportion about life. Ducks also laid delicious eggs and made a good meal themselves - Jess was nothing if not realistic in his affections. Unfortunately the one drawback to this enthusiasm was the fact that the relay station had no duck-pond. Jess was stuck with his feathered enemies, the chickens.

Yawning and stretching, he ambled out of the barn on that fateful morning, with a vague idea about dowsing his thick head in the water-trough before getting to grips with the morning's chores. He'd ridden in very late last night, the result of celebrating rather too vigorously their latest successful army remount sale. Slim had left early on the evening train to Cheyenne, but Jess had felt honour-bound to continue celebrating for both of them. As a result, when Traveller had, eventually, kindly transported him home, he had decided to sleep in the barn, rather than disturb Jonesy and the boys.

He yawned again, screwing his eyes up against the rising sun, as he mooched in the direction of the corral and the trough.

Then he stopped.

An incredulous grin lit his face.

Floating on the surface of the Sherman Stage-Stop water trough was a duck. A small duck. A glossy, colourful duck. A duck with bright and twinkly eyes. A duck which looked as if it had a distinct sense of humour. Certainly it spotted Jess and made a curious little quack that sounded more like a chuckle.

Jess stood still, the grin plastered across his face, as the day brightened around him and the bright little bird swam happily in the horses' water supply. It was some minutes before he remembered his intention to dowse his head. Suddenly it didn't seem necessary. The mere sight of the duck had cleared away the fog in his brain and livened up his whole attitude to the morning's work. All the same, it couldn't stay swimming in the water-trough.

"C'm on, little fella!" He scooped the duck out of the water. The duck chuckled again.

Jess strode into the house through the kitchen door, the duck tucked under his arm. For want of a better place, he deposited it, for the moment, in the sink. Time to enlist some expert help!

Jonesy, who was as usual the first person up, gazed after him in amazement as he swept through the kitchen. Seeing Jess on his feet, never mind lively, at this time in the morning, before he had downed even one cup of coffee, was enough to make Jonesy believe he was still asleep and dreaming. He pinched himself hastily. It was no dream.

Jess hurried on through the living room to the little back bedroom which the boys had elected to share when Andy was home from school.

"Get up, Mike!" Jess flung open the door with one hand and jerked the blankets off the nearest bed with the other. "Got something for you!"

"Urr-gh!" Mike did an excellent impression of the man standing over him as he attempted to burrow into the non-existent bedclothes.

"Up!" Jess seized him by his nightshirt and lifted him bodily from the bed. "Get dressed. Y've gotta guest to look after."

By this time Andy had surfaced without any coercion and was sitting up, looking bewildered. "You too!" Jess told him. "Mike needs help. An' if he don't, I do!"

The boys scrambled blearily into their clothes. Like Jonesy, they were wondering what in the world had got into Jess.

"Slim ain't never gonna believe this!" Mike asserted in muffled tones as he struggled into his shirt.

"Isn't going to," Andy corrected automatically, exactly as Slim would have done. "Here!" He gave the stuck shirt a helpful yank that nearly took Mike's ears off. "Now come on, Bear-cub! You know what Jess is like in the morning."

"But he ain't." Mike trailed out of the room after Andy, still struggling with his belt. "He was smilin', Andy! D'you ever see anythin' like it, first thing in the morning?"

Andy forbade to answer this. He had certainly seen Jess smile first thing in the morning, but, as it was in connection with a certain young lady of their acquaintance, he reckoned that was Jess's business. Anyway, from the lofty experience of nearly fifteen years, he figured Mike was much too young to know about such things. Instead he led the way in the kitchen, hopeful of some fresh milk and maybe a mouthful of bread to go with it.

Jonesy wasn't interested in feeding them. He pointed dramatically with the spoon he was using to scramble the eggs and told them in no uncertain terms: "Jess says look after it! So git it out o' my sink, on the double!"

The boys certainly did a double-take. The little duck regarded them with beady and benevolent eyes. It quacked. The quack was so comical, Andy and Mike started to laugh spontaneously.

"It ain't funny!" Jonesy protested. "It's unhygienic, so just you grab it and git out o' this kitchen pronto or it'll be duck casserole!"

Boys and duck made haste to exit in the direction of their joint collection of animals.

"Wonder where Jess found it?" Andy mused, grinning at the thought of Jess dumping the duck in the kitchen sink.

Mike shook his head. "It's a wonder-duck. It just came."

 **#**

 **# 2 #**

 **#**

It became apparent, during the course of the morning, that however the duck had arrived at the relay station, it was not by flying. They soon discovered its wings were clipped and it seemed to be used to being some kind of pet. It settled down happily in a coop, complete with a bowl of water, which the boys provided. It spend the morning uttering its comical quack every time it saw a human, with a particular crescendo if Jess came into view. The boys found this side-splittingly funny.

It was even funnier when they gathered for their mid-morning break in the shade of the porch. The duck was obviously an experienced escapologist, which might have explained what it was doing so far from home. As the humans settled down for a quick doze, the duck set about the fastening of the coop with its strong beak and flexible feet. The next anyone knew, it had made a bee-line (or maybe that should be a duck-line?) for Jess and jumped up into his lap. Jess gave a yelp of surprise, his eyes snapping open as he nearly fell out of his rocking chair. The duck chuckled in a self-satisfied manner.

"Guess it thinks y'r its ma!" Jonesy observed with a grin.

"Yeah, Jess. Maybe you'd better let it have your chair for keeps," Andy quipped.

"You little varmint!" Andy was saved from Jess's wrath only by the protests of the duck when he began to move.

Mike collapsed into giggles and rolled helplessly on the floor. Andy and Jonesy were chuckling in a good imitation of the duck. Jess glared at them all. But his scowl dissolved rapidly into a grin as he could not help admitting the absurdity of being adopted by a stray duck.

The duck was still sitting happily in Jess's lap when its irate owner arrived.

This arrival was heralded by the sound of hooves thundering down the road from Laramie. They all hauled themselves up from their semi-stupor and the boys jumped to their feet. Jonesy – hampered by his bad back – and Jess – hampered by the duck – remained where they were. A battered-looking horse with dilapidated harness and a tatterdemalion and distinctly elderly rider hove into view and skidded to a halt in front of the hitching rail.

"Mighta known it!" Jonesy muttered under his breath. "Trust a Patterson to go bustin' up the peace."

 _Busting up the peace_ was an understatement. The furious old man leapt from the saddle, brandishing a rifle in a decidedly dangerous manner.

The duck gave a startled quack. It did not sound like a chuckle.

The old man advanced on the party on the porch, his rifle trained on Jess. "Caught y' in th' act, y' thievin', no good rustler!"

Jess clutched the duck to his heart and tried to restrain himself from hysterical laughter. When he could muster a reasonable tone, he inquired dryly: "Just what the heck are y' accusin' me of, Mr. Patterson?"

"Accusin' y'?" The old man practically exploded with indignation. "Why'n hell would I want t'accuse y' when y're sittin' there with the evidence in y' lap?"

Everyone looked in consternation at Jess and the duck. They both looked back with a kind of ironic and yet innocent amusement.

"Y're kiddin'!" Jess responded. The duck, unfortunately, chose this moment to utter an affectionate quack and rub its head on him.

"Tha's my duck!" the old man raved. "An' you ain't got no right t' him. Rustlin's a hangin' offence as well you know. Now git outta that chair! I'm runnin' y' in t' Laramie an' the Sherriff can give y' the rope y've earned."

A hubbub of protest broke out, which was swiftly cut short when Old Man Patterson fired a blast into the roof of the porch. Jess had a split second of horror as he imagined Slim's reaction to the damage, but his own instant instinct, which he knew Slim would share, was to protect the boys. Immediately after that he was fully occupied trying to prevent a rapid deterioration of the situation.

"Git y' hands up!" Patterson ordered.

Jess hesitated. "You want me to let go of the duck?" Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jonesy sliding out of his chair and surreptitiously edging away. "What if y' evidence flies away?"

"Ain't gonna fly anywhere!" the old man told him. "Y' can keep holda it, but don't y' move one single muscle else!"

"So I ain't gotta put my hands up?" Jess asked, anxious not to get blasted for the wrong action.

"Y' can stand up – right now!" he was ordered.

Jess did so as slowly as he dared.

"An' you, kid!" The old man's attention shifted to Mike. "Stand in front o' him!"

Mike looked at Jess, indecision clear in his eyes. Jess nodded firmly and ordered: "Do as y' told, Bear-cub." There was no point in antagonising Patterson further. They just had to play along and placate him for the moment.

Patterson continued: "Now y' young friend there – " he nodded towards Andy " - is gonna get y' horse an' I'm takin' y' in f' the hangin' y' deserve!"

"The hell y' are!" Jonesy's angry growl made them all jump. "I got y' covered, Tobias Patterson, y' cantankerous old goat! Y' ain't takin' Jess anywhere – nor the duck neither!" he added for good measure.

"Y' reckon?" Patterson was unimpressed by the rifle Jonesy was pointing at his back. "Y' can shoot me, y' piana-playin' pie maker, but y' ain't gotta chance o' stopping me pluggin' Harper an' the kid afore y' do." The one old man turned his head slightly in the direction of the other old man. "Y' ain't got the speed, Jonesy, an' y' know it!"

"You wanna bet on that?" Jonesy grated.

They seemed to have arrived at an impasse – the two old men holding each other to ransom and the more active members of the party reduced to immobility as a result. Patterson, however, was not to be deterred from his master-plan of revenge.

"You! Young Sherman!"

Andy jerked alert at the demanding voice.

"Y' brother sets some store by this no-good saddle-tramp, don't he?"

Andy nodded silently.

"Answer me, boy!"

Andy gave a gulp and looked quickly at Jess, standing calm and impassive with the disputed duck in his arms. For once he was not wearing his gun-belt and anyway Andy knew full well he would never shoot an old man like this, even if he wasn't seriously inconvenienced by the duck. If Jess was going to escape from this mad accusation, it was up to the rest of them. In such a cause, and in true Sherman fashion, Andy was not going to answer with anything less than the truth.

"Jess is Slim's partner and he's our family. None of us is gonna let you touch him!"

"Yeah!" Mike's affirmation was wholehearted, despite the dangerous position he had been forced to take up. Jess shifted the duck and put a protective hand on Mike's shoulder, steering him unobtrusively out of the direct line of fire.

"Well, if y' value his worthless hide, get y'self over to the barn and saddle his horse!" Patterson ordered. "An' don't get any clever ideas, 'cos I got the little kid covered too."

"Do as he says, Andy!" Jess and Jonesy voiced the same sentiment in the same instant. Andy paused for a moment, but Jess gave him a quick jerk of his head, indicating clearly that he should do exactly as he was told. _You surely couldn't be hung for a duck? Could you?_

Andy made his way slowly over to the barn, but his progress was soon speeded up by a yell from their captor: "Get a move on, young Sherman - I knows how long it takes t' saddle a horse! An' don't even think of tryin' any tricks in there."

"An' saddle me the little mare too, Andy!" Jonesy ordered. "If I gotta keep this stubborn ol' mule covered all the way to Laramie, I ain't doin' it on m' own two legs!"

Patterson glared at him, but could not argue with the rifle. They stood like a tableau at a carnival until Andy returned leading Traveller and the slowest, quietest horse in the barn. Shortly after this, they were all mounted, Jess and the duck still together, Patterson covering Jess and Jonesy covering Patterson.

Jonesy looked down at the boys. "Andy, I'm leavin' you in charge for now, but I'll send Ben over t' give you a hand when we pass his place. Y' can take care of the midday stage and y' meal's in the oven. Stay here and keep outta trouble!" He glared at Jess and added: "Unlike y' guardian!"

"Hey, I ain't done nothin'!" Jess protested truthfully.

"Only acted fit t' get y'self hanged – again!" Jonesy told him balefully. As usual, his worrying care for them all was coming out sounding like crossness.

Jess knew this and grinned: "Ain't gonna come t' that."

"Oh yes it is!" Patterson asserted. "Now git on f' Laramie!"

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# 3 #

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Jess sat in a cell. The duck sat with him.

Mort Cory had refused to let the evidence out of his sight, being, for once, baffled by the tangle of accusation and counter-explanation, and annoyed by a storm which appeared to have arisen in a very small tea-cup, maybe an egg-cup even. (He was no expert on ducks and didn't recognise a drake when it was sitting in his cell.) He had no intention of hanging Jess – well, not immediately and provided he kept his mouth shut and refrained for once from getting even further up to the armpits in trouble! On the other hand, he was seriously aggravated at being interrupted in the middle of the complicated paperwork demanded by the Cheyenne court over the matter of some recent arrests. _Why they couldn't just sling the culprits into jail, he could not imagine!_ It was this mood, probably, which made him decide to sling Jess in the cell instead. He kept his back firmly turned on his two prisoners and got on with the wretched paperwork.

Jonesy and Tobias Patterson had stalked off to the saloon together, muttering imprecations at each other as they went. This mutual companionship came about because Jonesy was determined not to take his eyes off Old Man Patterson until the case was resolved and Jess proved innocent (well, as innocent as anyone with his background and experiences could be considered). Tobias was intent on celebrating the first stage of his victorious revenge with a good drink. Jonesy didn't drink and didn't trust anyone who did. He wouldn't put it past a drunken Patterson to take matters into his own hands while Jess was helpless in the cell. _It was no wonder,_ Jonesy muttered to himself _, those twin sons of his were so much trouble._

"Don't know why y' hangin' about in here if'n y' don't drink, Jonesy!" Patterson snarled.

"Yes y' danged well do! I ain't takin' my eyes off y' 'cos y' ain't t' be trusted!" Jonesy informed him roundly.

"Enjoy the view!" Patterson sneered.

"I've seen wus – but not much!"

"Well, if y' ain't drinkin', we might as well eat."

Jonesy was tempted to retort that he didn't break bread with people who tried to hang his friends, but, in truth, he'd known Tobias Patterson for a long time and figured he might just calm down a bit if they ate in a civilised manner. Anyway, he was hungry.

He was not the only one. It was way past time for the mid-day meal and Jess was getting bored anyway. His appeals to Mort, however, fell on stony ears. Mort was sufficiently irritated with him to decide it wouldn't do him any harm to suffer for a while. The most he would concede was a saucer of water for the duck.

"Mort, that's real unfriendly. I can't believe y' treatin' me worse'n a bird!"

"You know you can be hung for rustling anything," the much-tried Sherriff pointed out. "Just be glad I'm starving you to death instead!"

Jess and the duck looked at each other with identical hard-done-by expressions. The day wore on.

 **#**

 **# 4 #**

 **#**

Meanwhile, back at the relay station – to quote a cliché – Andy was organising Mike into as many chores as he could, in the hope of keeping his mind off what might be happening to Jess. Mike was not impressed.

"Y'ain't getting' me to do all this stuff just 'cos Jess and Jonesy ain't here t' stop y'!" he stated categorically.

"Aren't here," Andy corrected automatically, before adding: "Mike, we need to keep calm and not waste time worrying about Jess. He's come out of worse scrapes than this."

"Such as?" Mike demanded.

"Such as plenty!" Andy retorted, and because he was thinking about Jess, he slipped naturally into the informality he'd just been correcting in Mike: "Now quit arguin' and get on with soapin' the harness!"

"Huh!" Mike was not impressed, but he also knew the work of the relay station went on like clockwork, regardless of whatever manic mayhem was all around. It was one of the things he found reassuring in a world which had recently been so violently shaken about his ears. "Guess you're gonna sit on the porch an' watch?"

"You guess nothin' of the kind!" Andy told him. "I've got my chores and whatever Jess was doin' when he was jumped by that duck."

The duck. They looked at each other. Laughter just burst out at the thought of the bird. When they'd wiped their streaming eyes and recovered their breath, Andy clapped Mike on the back and said: "Let's get on with it, partner. It's what Slim and Jess would do."

"Yeah!" Mike was enthusiastic at this inspiration. Then his face fell a little. "Wish Slim was here!"

"Me too," Andy admitted, "but maybe he'll be back on the noon stage. Now let's get on like he'd expect us too."

Ben, who helped them out periodically, arrived some time before the stage and took up residence in the kitchen and Jonesy's abandoned responsibilities. Andy and Mike got on with the outside chores as best they could. The stage rolled in punctually. Slim was not on it.

The boys changed the team while the passengers went inside for some welcome coffee and refreshments. They were a rough-looking bunch – men who looked as if they ought to be riding trail rather than riding in a stage-coach. It was indicative that they were not joined by Mose, the regular driver, who never normally missed an opportunity to take on board more coffee. They slouched into the house, exuding belligerence and arrogance in equal proportions.

Andy and Mike wisely decided to use the back door when they went inside. As soon as they entered the kitchen, they were aware of an unpleasant interrogation going on in the living room.

"You gotta fast gun by the name o' Jess Harper works here!" The cruel voice made this a statement rather than a question.

"Yeah." Ben wasn't going to give away any information if he didn't have to. Andy blessed his loyalty, just as Slim would have done. He took a tight grip on Mike's arm and mouthed: "Keep quiet!"

"Where is he?"

"Ain't here," Ben responded curtly.

"Then where the hell is he?"

The boys were vividly aware of the risk Ben was taking as he flung back his own question: "Who wants t' know and why the hell should I tell y'?"

"Frank Marfleet, that's who!" the speaker snarled. "An' if y'need any reason for me wantin' t' catch up with that jumped-up little gunslick, he killed my brother an' landed me in a cell for five years."

"Guess y' didn't do nothing to deserve it, now, did y'?" Ben was really sticking his neck out.

"Never you mind what the hell I did. All that matters is that Harper ain't gonna walk away the next time we meet!"

There was a guffaw of agreement from the men with him and someone urged: "Get him any way y' can, Frank. Who care whether it's a fair fight or an ambush?"

"I don't," Frank Marfleet affirmed. "Just let me see him leakin' his life-blood out like Curt did – ain't got no feelin's about how it happens!"

There was another rumble of agreement from the men with him, after which Marfleet continued: "So speak up, old man! Where the hell is Harper if he ain't here?"

"Went off on business," Ben told him. "An' it ain't none of my business to ask where."

There was the sound of a chair crashing to the floor, a scuffle of boots and a gasp from Ben.

"You got ten seconds t' tell me where he went, or that ten seconds'll be y' last!" Marfleet informed him. "If you don't tell us, I guess there's plenty o' folk in Laramie will know all about Harper's business."

"Yeah? Well he went t' Laramie," Ben admitted in hoarse tones. "But he wuz gonna take the train. Could be Cheyenne. Maybe Denver. He didn't say."

The boys were holding their breath. It would bode ill for Jess if the enraged gunman found out his proposed victim was locked up and helpless in the town jail. There was a clatter of crockery as the men shoved their plates away and then Mose fortunately put his head round the door: "Stage is ready t' roll, gents."

Chairs scraped and boots scuffled. The door slammed behind them. Andy looked at Mike and Mike looked at Andy. One thought was uppermost in their minds and Mike expressed it: "They're gonna kill Jess!"

"Yeah," Andy was thinking furiously. Jess had been rounded up and ridden off without even putting his gun-belt on: it was still hanging on the pegs by the door. "We've gotta get to him before they do!"

"Too right!" Mike agreed. His face was pale and his breath coming in tense pants. "Jess can face anythin', but not if he's been locked up in a cell and he ain't even gotta gun."

"Come on!" Andy sprinted through the door into the living room, almost knocking Ben over as he went. He grabbed Jess's gun-belt from the pegs and grabbed Mike by the hand. "We're gonna get this to Jess," he flung at Ben over his shoulder.

The two boys slid round the door and, before Ben could utter a word of protest, they had raced after the stage-coach and leapt on to the back. Fortunately it was not moving too fast and they were able to pull themselves up into the back seat without Mose or the passengers noticing. The stage raced onwards to its destination in Laramie.

 **#**

 **# 5 #**

 **#**

Naturally the boys took care to drop off the back of the coach well before it finally came to a halt in Laramie. They immediately bolted down a side-alley which led, as both knew from their time in school, to a convenient timber yard full of places to hide.

"Now listen!" Andy told his small but enthusiastic henchman. "You've gotta play it natural. If Jess is locked up, we've gotta get him out, so you know what to do. If not we'll have to find him somehow. We'll hide his gun-belt here."

"If he's locked up, we'd want to talk to him, wouldn't we?" Mike pointed out.

"Yeah, but don't give Mort a clue about what we're goin' to do!"

"But Mort's Jess's friend," Mike objected. "Won't he let him out if someone's gunnin' for him?"

"He's the Sherriff," Andy stated firmly, "an' I know him well enough to know that the law comes first, no matter how he feels about Jess. We can't risk them gettin' to Jess. Now let's move!"

The Sherriff certainly had feelings about Jess, mostly irritable ones which had not yet dispersed, but, despite this, there was no little amusement creeping in as he witnessed the little duck's devotion to his prisoner. The Texan was lying on his bunk, uttering periodic groans to hint that he was certainly going to die of starvation. The duck was sitting on his chest and occasionally giving his hair an affectionate peck. From time to time it uttered a comforting quack.

Mort felt that much more of this and he was going to start chuckling himself. His expression softened and he even weakened sufficiently to consider feeding Jess. It was an instinct which many people – most of them female – had given in to. But Mort had made it quite clear to the saloon girls they were not going to be admitted to make a fuss over that young man, no matter what. He had to stick to his principles, even if the culprit was looking so appealingly pathetic. Mort knew perfectly well Jess was as tough as well-tanned steer hide and had survived far worse things than just missing a meal. He hardened his heart and pulled shut the inner door leading to the cells. Then he put his depositions in an addressed envelope, washed the ink off his fingers in the basin, rolled down his sleeves and prepared to head for the post and the saloon. _No reason why he shouldn't eat himself … and maybe he might just bring something back …_

The door of his office flew open and two boys bounded in.

"Hello, Mort! You got Jess in here?" Andy grinned at him.

"Yes – and that duck," Mort admitted. "But you can leave him to stew for a bit." He realised belatedly this was a rather unfortunate pun to apply to someone sharing a cell with a potential meal.

"Aw, Mort, y'know he never did nothin'!" Sentiment vanquished grammar as Mike expressed his staunch opinion.

"All the evidence – even if it is only one very small duck – suggests that he did," the Sherriff told them dryly. But, seeing the boys' distressed faces, he hastened to comfort them. "I can't let him out till this is cleared up, but if he didn't do anything, you know he'll go free."

"Can we talk to him? He'll be awful bored!" Mike appealed.

"He'll survive," Mort told them firmly. "Now what're you two doing in my office?"

"I need your help, Mort," Andy explained. "Ben sent me to find Jonesy and he's in the saloon. But Slim won't let me into the saloon on my own. Can you come with me?"

"Sure, Andy." Mort hid a smile at Andy's honest and entirely Sherman-like consideration of his big brother's rules.

"Gee, thanks, Mort! Can Mike wait here, please? Slim 'n Jess wouldn't like him goin' anywhere near a saloon."

Mike opened his eyes wide and contrived to look as innocent as he could. He plumped himself down in Mort's chair and said in serious tones: "I can mind the office for y', Sherriff. I know Slim'd want me to stay inside and not on the sidewalk."

"Fine, Mike. I'll leave you in charge," Mort smiled. He was pretty sure the little boy would make a bolt for the cell to console his hero as soon as his back was turned, but he was not so heartless as to forbid this natural disregard for his orders.

He was entirely correct. The door has scarcely swung shut behind the pair of them, when Mike pulled out the top drawer of the desk and grabbed the bunch of keys lying in it. He ran to the door and peeped out. Andy and Mort were well on the way to the saloon. There wasn't much time!

Mike flung open the inner door and dangled the keys through the bars of Jess's cell. "Wake up, Jess! Get up! We've gotta get out of here!"

 **#**

 **# 6 #**

 **#**

When Mort and Andy reached the saloon, Jonesy was not there. What was more, Freddie the barman was so unhelpful as to inform them that Jonesy had departed in the company of Mr Patterson some time before. Certainly before Andy and Mike had arrived on the scene.

Andy assumed an innocence unrivalled by Mike or even by Jess. "I could swear that's where he said he was going, Mort. He wouldn't let Old Man Patterson out of his sight and you know how he likes to drink."

"I may, Andy," Mort observed sternly, "but I don't know how you came by such knowledge."

"Well," - Andy scuffed his toe in the dust and kept his eyes firmly downcast - "you know how people talk and other kids pick it up and then –" He stopped abruptly, figuring Mort would be well familiar with Slim's views on gossip. "Guess I was out of order. Sorry, Mort."

The Sherriff stretched out a hand and ruffled his hair but made no comment. Instead he returned to the business in hand: "You still want to find Jonesy?"

"Yeah. Maybe we could try the hotel?"

"You can try the hotel, Andy. You've been there often enough. Off you go!" Mort gave him a friendly shove in the right direction. He had noticed a group of men in the saloon whose presence disturbed him and he was not in a hurry to investigate them with Andy at his side.

"Supposing they're still riled with each other. It might get a bit rough for me on my own."

"Two old men and you a young one? I'm sure you'll manage fine by yourself."

"But Mort –" Andy was desperate to delay the Sherriff as long as he could, but his efforts were in vain.

"You know, I'm beginning to suspect you want me to neglect the work I'm paid for," Mort commented jokingly. "Stop by and pick Mike up when you've found Jonesy."

Andy heaved an exasperated sigh and just hoped Mike had been quick in carrying out his part of the plan. As soon as Mort was well down the street, he made straight for the timber yard. There he heaved a further sigh of relief: the gun-belt was gone. Andy considered his options and decided to head for the hotel, a second rendezvous where he had arranged to meet Mike if need be.

So it was that, by the time Mort made it back to his office, the cell was empty but still locked. Jess, Mike and the duck had disappeared into thin air.

#

 **# 7 #**

 **#**

"Y'can lead a duck to water, but y' can't make it swim!"

Jess stared in despair at the little feathered bundle sitting firmly on his boot. He and Mike had high-tailed it out of the jail as soon as Jess had grasped who was gunning for him. He didn't want to get Mike into trouble, but there was no sense in being a sitting duck – or rather two sitting ducks, since, like the boys, the real one refused to abandon him. And at that point, of course, they had to decide what to do with the real duck, which was still bent on tagging along with them.

It needed a good, safe and appropriate home. But every time they tried to launch it on the Laramie municipal pool and watering-hole, it simply swam back to the edge and climbed determinedly out.

"Honestly!" Mike exclaimed, sounding quite cross with it. "It's worse'n a little brother!"

Jess laughed quietly. His own experience of little brothers tended to confirm their inherent ability to stick to you when you most wanted to get rid of them. The duck was an excellent example of this trait. So, despite being harassed by adhering ducks and vengeful gunmen, he found Mike's comment both touching and amusing. Maybe the boy was actually hankering after not being the little brother for ever? Maybe they'd have to see about expanding the family again somehow? His own family had been large enough for Jess to enjoy the fun and excitement a whole bunch of youngsters could generate and he could sympathise with Mike wanting to be in the middle not at the end.

He dragged his mind back to the present. His immediate family responsibility was to protect Mike and Andy from getting sucked into whatever evil plans Marfleet and his gang had hatched. The boys had done well, but now he wanted them off the street and into the best place of safety possible. At the same time, he could not possibly take on Marfleet with a duck running round his feet … ! Or so he thought in his innocence …

"Look, Mike, can you stay on the far side of the pool till I'm out of sight? Then chuck him in and run like a bear's after y' in the opposite direction. With a bit of luck he'll be too confused to follow either of us."

"You reckon?" Mike reckoned the duck was just as affectionately attached to Jess as everyone else at the relay station. "I'll try," he promised, but he didn't sound hopeful.

"And when y' run, keep off the main street. Go round the back of Mort's office and in the back door. That's where Andy's goin' to meet you, ain't it? If he ain't there, head for the hotel, same way. Understand?"

"Yeah, Jess." Mike nodded obediently. But he looked at the gun-belt, now retrieved from the woodpile and gracing Jess's hips as if it had grown there and was part of his muscles. "You gonna fight him?"

"Not unless I have to, Mike," Jess assured him firmly. "I ain't in a hurry to be deprived of Jonesy's cookin' by a stray bullet."

Mike gave a rather bleak grin at this, but he was also very persistent when he wanted information.

"Can y' lick him?"

Jess considered for a moment. "I got an even chance. Never any way of tellin' how a shooting match will go."

A deadly shooting match, Mike knew that full well. "Are y' afraid?"

Jess considered again. "Nope. I'm … ready … concentratin' … it's difficult to explain."

Mike wanted to fling his arms round his guardian, but the duck got seriously in the way, so he settled for head-butting his ribs. Jess took this in the spirit it was meant and wrapped both arms round him in a bear-hug instead.

"I'm glad you so brave!" Mike told him in muffled tones. The duck added a quack of agreement.

Jess held him off a little and looked intently into his eyes. Mike had not seen him look so serious for a long while – at least while the duck was around.

"I'm not brave, Mike. Just well-trained."

"You mean y' don't worry that y' won't be faster'n him?"

"The man who taught me, taught me not to worry."

"He did?" Mike sounded more than a little disbelieving.

"Yeah, he did. He taught me to practise. To take every practice as seriously as a real fight. To concentrate an' give everything to it. That way, when it comes to a real fight, y'doin' something so natural, it's like walkin' or breathin'. Y' don't have to think or feel or even concentrate. It just … happens ..."

Mike nodded, understanding a little more. He had seen Jess often enough at his regular practice and knew from experience that nothing short of a major emergency would distract him.

Jess stood for a moment as if he himself was taken by surprise at how he had described his responses. But he hauled himself back to the very real situation he had to face. "I gotta get goin'. Do y' best with the little fella." He patted the duck on the head. "Then do like I said. I mean it, Mike! I need to know y' safe."

Mike nodded and said: "I promise."

He started to walk away round the pool, but this didn't prevent him hearing a last word from Jess: "Thanks, pard'ner!"

 **#**

 **# 8 #**

 **#**

Walking out on to the main street, Jess was, as he tried to describe to Mike, in a state of calm alertness, ready to explode into smooth and deadly action the moment he needed to. He was instantly aware that Laramie was braced and ready for trouble.

The normally busy street was almost deserted. The stage had already disappeared, despite not being due to leave for another hour. The Livery yard was deserted. Store doors were firmly closed, and one or two places had pulled their shutters over the windows too. There were very few people about and those who were scurried for cover the moment his feet took him to the middle of the road. Marfleet must have been sounding off pretty violently to get this type of reaction.

Jess walked confidently in the direction of the saloon. Well, it was more of a stalk than a walk, since every muscle and sinew radiated an unmistakable 'don't mess with me' signal. He'd been likened often enough to a hunting cougar and never more so than when he was faced with a show-down. Mike had said there were three men. It remained to be seen whether they were all going to line up against him, which required one type of shooting, or whether Marfleet was confident enough to face him alone, which meant he would have to be on the alert for where the other two were.

After a few more paces, Jess stopped and waited. Sure enough, the saloon doors crashed open and Marfleet stormed out. He was on his own. Jess watched him carefully and saw the tell-tale flick of a glance to the right and left of the street. _The other men were on the roof, then_. It was an unknown factor whether they would play fair and let the two in the street shoot it out. Jess did not pin any hopes on fairness.

Marfleet's head went up and a triumphant sneer plastered itself across his unwholesome features. Prison certainly hadn't done anything to enhance the man's looks. He looked exactly what he was - lawless and violent. He took a couple of paces down the middle of the road towards Jess and stopped.

"Come t' get what y' deserve, have y', boy? Thought y'd be runnin' away like y' did last time!" He looked Jess up and down contemptuously. "Well, you're gonna pay now, y' little bastard!"

Normally there was nothing which acted more surely as a red rag to Jess's innate bull than being called 'little'. But this was not a fist fight. This was professional. Insults did not touch him. He just waited, poised and ready, for Marfleet to make the first move.

"Got any last words before I finish y' off the way you did Curt?" Marfleet snarled.

He was answered in a most unexpected way. By a quack. The duck had obviously followed Mike back to the main street.

Right along with the duck's appearance, Mort strode out with the intention of stopping the fight if he could. At the same time, Jess caught sight of Patterson emerging from the hotel, complete with rifle, despite Jonesy's attempts to hold him back. This was three more people than he wanted involved in the immediate confrontation and he hoped and prayed that Andy and Mike would have the sense to stay inside, where ever they were.

While these thoughts were passing swiftly through Jess's head, he was subjected to an equally swift avian advance. The mallard made another bee-line for Jess, obviously having designated him as the object of its affections and letting nothing stand in its way to reach him. But there _was_ something in its way. It was Marfleet.

The gunman was obviously not used to attackers who operated at ground level. The duck simply took the shortest route to Jess. This involved going straight between Marfleet's legs.

The mallard was being pursued by three very territorial and aggressive geese.

The geese followed the duck.

Marfleet's legs were swept from under him and he was swamped in the beating of strong wings and the snapping of some very sharp beaks.

Jess didn't move his hand away from its poised position but he also did not shoot a man when he was down. In any case, he was hard put not to burst out laughing at his enemy's predicament. The duck sat firmly once more on his left boot.

At this juncture Mort barrelled up to the fallen gunman and beat off the geese, intent on making some kind of arrest. He wasn't sure of the charge yet, but getting Marfleet off the street was a priority. As he bent to haul the man to his feet, several things happened almost simultaneously.

With Mort leaning over him and hiding his actions, Marfleet took the opportunity to draw on Jess. Jess sensed rather than saw the movement he had been waiting for, but he could not shoot back for fear of hitting Mort. Fortunately, from the hotel, Patterson had a clear shot. He was in any case incensed because Marfleet was attempting to shoot Jess when Patterson wanted him hanged.

"Danged if'n y' gonna save that no-good duck rustler from the rope!" he yelled, as he put a neat bullet through Marfleet's shoulder.

The shot aimed at Jess went wide. Mort pounced with the handcuffs. Patterson turned his attention to the man he had saved (temporarily, at least in his estimate). But he too was swept off balance by a positive human stampede as Andy and Mike rushed out of the hotel and flung themselves on Jess in an ecstasy of relief and pride. The duck quacked loudly and the geese began to honk. They might have been applauding.

If so, the applause was instantly drowned by the thundering of hooves as a chestnut horse hurled round the bend at the end of the road and pounded towards them. The rider's head went up as he took in the scene in front of him. Then he was standing in his stirrups, his rifle braced against his shoulder.

"Jess! Roof!"

Two single words. But the understanding between the partners needed no more. The words were scarcely out of Slim's mouth when Jess flung an arm round each of the boys and made a rolling dive which took them all under the nearest wagon. The sound of rifle fire split the air, swiftly followed by the thud of falling bodies.

Lying in the dust and partially flattened by the weight of the two boys, Jess reflected that it never did pay to expect fair play!

 **#**

 **# 9 #**

 **#**

"Come out from under there, the lot of you!"

There was a distinct upheaval as man, boys and duck struggled to right themselves and emerge in a reasonably dignified manner. This was not aided by the fact that Slim had leapt off Alamo and was now standing, legs braced and arms akimbo, glaring down at them. From ground level, Slim Sherman was an extremely imposing sight. In fact, he was an imposing sight from any angle, but if you happened to be his brother, his ward or his partner, having him tower over you in a righteous rage was not an experience to be courted.

They crawled out and formed a miserable line before Slim, who regarded them with an infuriated and entirely justified exasperation. His frown focused first on the two boys.

"Keep quiet, both of you!" he ordered peremptorily. "I don't care what you've got to say about this affair, it's not your responsibility." He turned to Jess. "I thought after all this time I could leave you in charge without some hair-brained escapade taking place! I don't care how bored you get with routine, you have a duty to keep the place running and set an example to the boys. What the heck makes you think it's ok to neglect the work and idle about amusing yourself with –" Words failed Slim when he looked at the duck, but he drew a deep breath and, after another scowl at Jess, continued: "- with anything so trivial?"

This was distinctly unfair, as the consequences of the arrival of the duck had been far from trivial. Slim, however, was not in possession of all the facts and Jess appreciated that, if he had known the full story, he would not now be yelling at them in the middle of the main street of Laramie.

"As for getting involved in gun-fights!" Slim's light blue eyes were dark with horror. "With Andy and Mike around? I can't believe it!"

Jess Harper had never hung his head since his ma caught him pilfering the preserves for the umpteenth time and he tried to blame it on younger brother Johnny. (In all honesty, it was Johnny who egged him on to this rash enterprise, but that's another story!) Now he figured it might placate Slim a bit if he did. Besides there was another consideration:

"Slim, can we just do this someplace less public?"

Slim glared even more at him and growled: "I suppose you're worried about your precious reputation?"

Jess grinned and shook his head. "Nope. Y' just upsettin' the duck!"

 **#**

 **# 10 #**

 **#**

A less public place proved problematical. Patterson (and probably Jess) preferred the saloon, Mort wanted to get back to his own office in order to lock up the arrestees and complete even more paperwork, and Jonesy, with the support of Slim, was all in favour of a visit to the town's quietest café. The boys, characteristically, would have opted for the most exciting venue, but no-one saw fit to ask their opinion, even if Slim did have their moral interests at heart.

The debate, which was becoming heated, was interrupted by more galloping hooves and a cry of: "Hey, Paw!"

Jonesy was heard to groan: "Dang'd if it ain't more trouble!"

Mort groaned in agreement.

Jess groaned because he had belatedly realised that he had landed heavily on his gun a few minutes ago.

Slim wasn't given to groaning in public, but his lips tightened again in disapproval of the increasingly disreputable company they were keeping.

Only Patterson evinced any pleasure and even he just yelled: "Where'n tarnation have you two bin? Y' think I got all day t' do your work as well as m'own?"

"Come on, now, Paw!" The Patterson twins jumped off their horses and ambled up to the group. "How come y' claimin' t' be workin' when y' standin' round havin' a party in the middle o' Laramie?"

"It's a hangin' party, that's why!" their father told them roundly. "I got me a rustler." He prodded Jess in the ribs with the rifle, a rash proceeding which would have got his arm ripped off if Jess hadn't restrained himself in respect for the man's age.

"You've done nothing of the sort!" Slim broke in furiously, as something of the true nature of the situation burst upon him. "None of this would have happened if you lot –" he rounded on Jess and the boys, "bothered to look at the barn door in the morning!"

"The door?" Jess expression was a baffled blank, until the realisation dawned that he had spent the night _inside_ the barn and consequently hadn't looked at the outside of it when he swung open the doors in the morning. Then he just looked guilty.

"Hangover, I suppose?" Slim growled at him, remembering how they had parted.

There were guffaws from the Patterson twins and Tom jibed: "C'm on now, Slim, you ever seen Jess Harper with a hangover?"

Jess shot a look at Slim which was half scowl, half appeal, since Slim had certainly pulled him out of his bunk with a thick head on more than one occasion. Slim was merciful and forbade to ruin his partner's reputation.

"Never mind that! If you'd used your eyes, you'd have spotted this." He waved a battered scrap of paper under Jess's nose. The Texan took it and smoothed it out, squinting at the untidy sprawl of uneven capitals. It said:

' _FRENDS PLESE LOOK AFTA DADS DUCK WOT WE CANT TOOK ALON OF US SOW'LL PICK UN UP EVENIN THANKS.'_

"Y' stupid pair of young –!" Words momentarily (and probably fortunately, given the youth of some of his audience) failed Patterson Senior. He was only a little old man but his burly sons flinched visibly as he advanced on them brandishing his rifle in a manner which suggested that the butt might shortly be making contact with vulnerable parts of their anatomy. "Y' mean me own sons are stealing stock from me?"

"Paw, we ain't done nothin'!" Stan protested, backing away.

"Y' gave me duck away!" Patterson roared.

"Didn't, Paw!" Tom butted in hastily. "Just left him at the relay station till we could collect him and bring him home."

"And what were y' doin' with me duck in the first place?" their father demanded.

"Dang'd thing stowed away in m' saddle-bag," Stan admitted. "Y'know what it's like."

"Didn't discover it till we got t' Sherman's place," Tom added. "Weren't no place for a duck in …" he hesitated, "… what we were doin', so we left it safe till we came back."

"Oh! Yeah … e-er …" Whatever the Patterson boys had been up to, it obviously didn't bear close inspection.

Their stunned audience came to life and Mort told them dryly: "Guess you'd better make yourselves scarce, boys, before I have to have a closer look in those saddlebags." He was pretty sure that there would not be anything strictly illegal in them, but he was not in a hurry to add to his paperwork. Stan and Tom were feckless rather than criminal and he was prepared to give them a scare and the benefit of the doubt.

Sure enough, they backed hastily away, but had enough conscience to insist: "Jess ain't done nothin', Paw – honest!"

"Yeah, I know he's honest!" Old Man Patterson yelled with complete disregard for all the things he had spent the day accusing Jess of. "I'll take m'belt t' the pair of y' when I get home!"

Knowing the family, it seemed more likely they would all get roaring drunk in the saloon and totally forget the whole incident. Slim and Jess suppressed their grins. Mike looked as if he was going to burst into another fit of giggles but Andy jabbed him with his elbow and hissed: "Shut up, Bear-cub!"

The twins disappeared through the swing doors and their father turned back to the group behind him. "Guess I owes y' n'apology, boy," he said to Jess. "Fact is, that duck's more trouble'n it's worth. Spends all its time escapin' and goin' on the run."

"You tried givin' it some water?" Jess asked sternly.

"Water? Tha's poultry - any duck is," the old man asserted. "Gets a drink along of all the other birds. What more'd it want?"

"A pond?" Jess suggested.

The old man's face was a picture, much to Jonesy's satisfaction. He'd been riding herd on Patterson all day and was delighted to see him wrong-footed and out of his depth. "Didn't think o' that, did y', y' cantankerous old buzzard?"

"Keep outta this, Jonesy!" Patterson ordered. He looked thoughtfully at Jess and the duck. Then he went on: "Ain't gonna say I'm always right. An' that little fella's done nothin' but try t' escape since I got him. Guess y'd better keep him. Take him as m'apology. I won't hang y'!" And with a final cackle of slightly manic laugher, he turned and headed after his sons.

"Guess I can tear up the paperwork on you now," Mort told Jess with a grin, "and I suppose I've got to ignore Mike's part in all this too!"

"Yeah, and y' can feed me the meal y' owe me too!" Jess growled. "I'm starvin'!"

"Tell us something new!" Jonesy and Slim said in chorus. Mike was finally allowed to giggle and Andy and the duck were positively chortling. Jess scowled at them all. He was rapidly deciding that he'd have to polish up his 'hard-done-by' technique if people were going to react like this. _On the other hand, none of them were female_ … his gaze drifted longingly towards the saloon.

"Oh no you don't!" Slim told him firmly, rightly interpreting his wistful expression. "You had enough last night by the sound of it. And anyway, you'll probably get into another fight with the Pattersons."

"And I've got plenty to do with the last bunch you tangled with," Mort reminded him. "Beat it, if you don't want to find yourself helping me with the paperwork!"

"Yeah! Time to go home!" Jess told them all firmly. "Come on, Bear-cub!" He picked Mike up under one arm and ran towards where Traveller was still standing outside Mort's office. "You're in nearly as much trouble as me!"

The duck followed them, uttering enthusiastic quacks. Slim glared at it, but couldn't find it in himself to blame a bird for everything. "And I'm not asking who planned all this." He eyed his younger brother severely.

"Yeah, well done, Andy!" Jonesy told him with a defiant look at Slim as they followed the escaping trio. "Jess could've been dead by now without your help."

"He'll definitely be dead if he doesn't catch up all the work he's missed today," Slim threatened. It sounded as if he meant it. At any rate he was not smiling at Jess or Mike when they caught up with them, especially as Jess had deposited Mike on his feet and picked up the duck, which clearly couldn't ride on its own.

Jess remembered to hang his head a bit more, but it didn't seem to have much effect, so he pointed out plaintively: "It ain't my fault I spent the day in jail!"

"Huh!" Slim threw Mike up into Alamo's saddle and mounted behind him. Jess hopped onto Traveller with the duck under his arm, before winking at Andy, who scrambled up behind him to share the ride home. Jonesy hauled himself reluctantly onto the quiet mare.

They were about half-way home by the time the atmosphere had improved somewhat, although Slim was still looking pretty stern, as he always did when he was concentrating hard on the rights and wrongs of a given situation. Jess looked at him thoughtfully and with an affectionate respect born of much shared experience. Reckoning he wouldn't get his head entirely bitten off, he decided to issue a challenge, in the interests of what would happen when they got there.

"Listen up, Hard Rock: y' called me idle. Now y' know that ain't true, so I guess y' own me!"

 **#**

 **# 11 #**

 **#**

A sizable hole appeared in one corner of the south paddock of the Sherman Stage Stop. It did not get there by magic. It got there because it was owing.

Slim wiped the sweat from his brow with an earthy hand and asked wearily: "Why d'you need a pond this big? It's only one duck!"

Jess just grinned and pointed to the creature in question, who was sitting atop the pile of displaced earth with a distinctly critical gleam in its eye.

Later, banking up the excavated earth to form a broad rim to the pond, Slim groaned: "I can't believe we need to move all this earth again!"

Jess just grinned and cocked an eye at the duck. It quacked. The quack sounded suspiciously like approval of their laborious activity.

Later still: "Jess, I am not getting covered with wet clay just to line this thing!"

Oh yes, he was. What felt like hours later, the pond was thoroughly lined with waterproof clay.

It was the production of a bucket for the filling of the said pond with water from the pump which finally broke Slim's support for the enterprise.

"Oh no!" he exclaimed, sucking a blister on one thumb and glaring at his partner at the same time. "You can fill your own darned duck pond!"

"Aw now, Slim, y'wouldn't wanna upset Napoleon, would y'?"

"You named a duck _Napoleon?_ "

"Yeah. Reckon he invaded this place and ran a pretty effective campaign to get what he wanted!"

Words failed Slim. It was probably just as well he stomped off to the house and did not see Jess – with a wicked grin and a murmur of "idle, huh!" - dispose of the bucket. Instead, with a few blows of his spade, he opened up a nearby spring, which immediately began to flood the pond.

Napoleon launched himself on the water with what sounded like an amused quack and proceeded to have a good wash.

"Glad you approve," Jess chuckled. "Now you've got a pond all to y'self, stay put, will y'?"

He sauntered back to the veranda, wondering whether he had the energy left to wash off the soil and sweat adhering to his person. Maybe it would just be quicker and easier to join the duck in the pond. He flopped into a rocking chair next to Slim, too tired to bother what he looked or smelt like. Andy dumped a mug of coffee in his hand, but for once Jess did not even feel capable of drinking it. He closed his eyes.

Jonesy was playing softly on the piano inside. The old folk-tune sounded familiar: _'I know where I'm going … and I know who's going with me …'_

There was a triumphant quack as something wet and feathery landed on his knee. Mike and Andy proceeded to have hysterics, but Slim was not amused.

"Jess Harper, you're as bad as the boys! That duck is not living inside. It'll end up sleeping in your bunk!"

Jess's eyes remained firmly closed, but he grinned broadly as he remembered all the trouble the duck had already got him into. He muttered sleepily: "Fine by me. But it's _your_ job to convince Napoleon!"

The duck in question winked one bright eye at Slim and gave a remarkably complacent quack. Maybe, for once, Slim's authority over the relay station was being seriously challenged? And not by Jess …

 **#**

 **# # #**

 **#**

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* * *

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NOTES:

I hope this improbable tale made you smile – or even maybe chuckle a bit! It is actually based on something I read recently about someone in the Old West really being accused of duck-rustling. I have a feeling the outcome was much more serious, resulting in a range or Indian war, but for the life of me, I can't find this reference again. If you know, let me know!

But in the course of some research, I did come across the following article:

 _Niles Register,_ 2nd June 1827 - THE UNCERTAINTY OF THE LAW

A rough, ragged looking son of Krin, named John Brush, who looked as though he had been at a wake for a week, and slept in the gutter afterwards, was yesterday put to the bar, on an indictment for stealing a duck. … Exceptions were taken to the indictment, that it did not set forth the fact whether the duck was tame, or dead or alive, but merely charged the prisoner with stealing "a duck." … The witness was then called again, and swore that it was a tame duck. The jury thereupon found the prisoner guilty without leaving the box. Pat protested stoutly against the verdict—insisting that he had never stolen "the duck at all, at all. May it please your honor's honor" said he, "it is hard got a placable honest man, as your honor sees that I am, to be bothered in this way, when d'ye see, as I was just after going home the night, just a little bit in the morning, d'ye see, I fell down, and found the duck under me. And that is all your honor!"

.

The other inspiration was, of course, _Ducks_ by F.W. Harvey. Harvey was a soldier with the 5th Battalion, The Gloucestershire Regiment (one of our local regiments) and the best-known verse of the poem is alluded to at the beginning of the story:

.

When God had finished the stars and whirl of coloured suns

he turned his mind from big things to fashion little ones;

beautiful tiny things (like daisies) he made, and then

he made the comical ones in case the minds of men

should stiffen and become

dull, humourless and glum,

and so forgetful of their Maker be

as to take even themselves – quite seriously.

Caterpillars and cats are lively and excellent puns:

all God's jokes are good – even the practical ones!

And as for the duck, I think God must have smiled a bit

seeing those bright eyes blink on the day he fashioned it.

And he's probably laughing still

at the sound that came out of its bill!

.

In this 'Andy and Mike' AU, Mike has a different nick-name. This is because I transferred 'Tiger' to Andy when I thought it would never be possible to write about Mike without bringing Daisy Cooper into it. Since I was wronga bout this, there'll be a story on the way explaining how Mike got the new nick-name.


End file.
